FM 2

Merlin, with his seven-string guitar slung over his shoulder, stepped into the music store, his eyes immediately locking onto a gleaming Stratocaster hanging on the wall. Its polished body and the promise of a sound that could cut through steel had him drooling. But the price tag? That was a different story. It hung there, almost mocking him, with more zeros than he cared to count.
He approached the young salesman, a guy with a haircut too cool for the room, and pitched his idea. “What do you say to a trade? My seven-string beauty here for that Strat?” he asked, hopeful.
The salesman, with a smirk that suggested he’d heard it all before, shook his head. “No can do, rockstar. That’s a classic. But…” he trailed off, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“But what?” Merlin leaned in, intrigued.
The salesman motioned for him to follow, leading him to the back of the store where forgotten treasures and lost dreams gathered dust. He pointed to an old guitar case. “This one. It’s been here since the 80s, left by some guy who never came back for it. It’s got history, it’s got soul, and it might just be your ticket to stardom.”
Merlin’s fingers trembled as he unlatched the case. Inside lay a guitar with a few scratches and a faded finish, but it was beautiful in its own right. He strummed it, and the sound was pure magic.
“So, what do you say? A straight swap, your seven-string for a piece of history?” the salesman offered.
Merlin didn’t hesitate. “Deal,” he said, sealing his fate with a handshake. As he walked out of the store, new old guitar in hand, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just traded up in the world of rock ‘n’ roll.

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